


House of the Risin' Sun

by KryptoniteTie



Series: Welcome to My Nightmare (Tommy Series) [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Bodyswap, Concussions, Dreamscapes, Electrocution, Everyone Has Issues, Exorcisms, Gen, Grunkle Ford Needs A Hug, Grunkle Stan Needs A Hug, Help, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Concussion Syndrome, Protective Grunkle Ford, Protective Grunkle Stan, Statue Bill Cipher, The Woods Are Giving Out Free Kids Stanley, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 04:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14536953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KryptoniteTie/pseuds/KryptoniteTie
Summary: It's been a few months shy of year after Weirdmageddon, and everyone's settling back into the Mystery Shack. That is, until a trouble-prone Thomas "Tommy" James Mason arrives on the scene, desperate to escape his problems.This fic has taken me two years to write, I hope y'all enjoy![Edit] Fixed the formatting, as it was bugging me.[Edit 2] wow i really messed up the floor plan of the shack, huh? fixed that too.





	House of the Risin' Sun

The bus lets off a few people, and even more get on, all chatting amongst themselves.

I've been in the second-to-front seat for a good eight hours now, but I keep thinking about the friends I left behind. Echoes of their kindness reverberate like a drum beat in my soul. They all worked so hard to get me an apartment, with some nice roommates, and a job.

Look how I blew that to pieces.

Seriously, only my stupid self can find a way to accidentally set a fridge on fire. I just, ugh. The further way I get from that mess, the better I’ll be.

Jeez, I’ve been saying that for a while now. Every single time something like this happens, I always run away. Maybe I should go back. Maybe I should go tell Angela that I made a mistake, and that I'm sorry I burnt half her scalp off.

Do ya think she’ll forgive me for, ruining her date?

….Y’know what, maybe it's best if I not.

With the thought exiting my mind, the last few people get on this creaky old bus. A little girl stares at me intently as I massage my forehead with my index and thumb, my breath fogging up the glass window. Gosh this has been a long ride. I'm just glad nobody’s sitting next to me any more. Those two hours are not something I want to ever live again.

"Alright folks, next stop, Gravity Falls!"

I clutch my backpack tighter as the bus takes off. Outside the window, I see trees that, even after all this time up north, I can hardly believe are real. Branches scrape the sky in ways that even the tallest Willows back in Louisiana couldn't dream of doing. Watching these green giants blur by as the bus moves ever onward is somewhat hypnotizing.

Suddenly, a child’s voice cries out.

"Momma! Momma! What are they?"

I flinch. A motherly shush rings out from the seat across the aisle. The parent murmurs something, and the little girl is focusing on something other than me. I rub my temples with my free hand again, everything in me screaming.

Great! Just what this trip was missing.

Conversations between passengers float in the air like the strange old person smell wafting from the seats. The wheels hit a bump in the road. In an attempt to distract myself from nothing, I turn attention to my wallet. Probably shouldn't’ve. Ten dollars in cash is all I have to my name. I pull out my learner's permit, reading the name that should be on it, and some of my physical descriptors.

 _Thomas James Mason_  
_Eyes: Amber_  
_Hgt: 5'3"_

Below that, an address that no longer belongs to me, a lot of other useless crud, and a terrible picture of me. Don’t y’all just love the DMV? Okay, let's look at my birth date.

_04-25-1990_

Hard to believe I'm 23. Feels like just yesterday I was some 17 year old punk with a guitar he didn't quite know how to play.

The permit slides back into its sleeve, and the wallet in my pocket. We continue on, and I settle down more in my seat. The engine rumbles the way old things do. A baby starts to cry a few rows back. So many families wanting to go see this Gravity Falls place for their summer break. Me? I just hopped on a line at random back in San Fran, trying to get as far away from California as possible. If that happens to lead me right into some tourist trap in Oregon, so be it. Someone could even kidnap me right now and I’d be fine with it.

I stretch out my arms and yawn. It’s weird how sitting in a bus can make you so tired, huh? The ride begins to smooth out, and I rest my head on the back of my seat, dozing off.

  
\-------

  
Guess I was sleeping for a while, as the next thing I know, some kid in a vest’s shaking me awake.

Little dude walks off before I have a chance to thank him. Rubbing my eyes, I go to gather up my things. As I nab my guitar case from the shelf above me, I feel a chill run down my back, and a muffled whisper in my ear.

_Hey, kid....._

My entire body goes stiff for just a moment. Is there, even anybody else on the bus? I look to either side of me. Not a soul in sight, not even the driver. Huh. That's kinda odd. Maybe I'm just, hearing things?

The bus pulls away as I'm standing in front of a worn out hut. The old thing looks like it's seen better days. Shingles are missing, and it seems like it's going to collapse on itself if you look at it wrong. On the top, there's a sign with bright red wooden letters spelling out the name, but the ‘S’ is slightly sunken.

_Mystery Shack_

Tourist trap.

Kids and their parents all rush to the door, a new life in their steps. I follow suit, my backpack on my shoulders and my guitar safely in her case. I sling her on my back as well, as I like my hands being free. Little dude and, who I'm guessing is his sister, went running to the opposite side of the shack. I guess they know the owners or something.

A pang of sadness reverberates in my chest as I stand with the group outside. Most of the kids here, aren't much shorter than I am.

No, don't you start this pity party Thomas James! You told yourself you weren't going to do this! This is a fun trip! This is a nice trip! Don't bring this up you dumb idiot-

 _FWSHOOM_!

In a sudden burst of light and flash, a portly Hispanic man in a suit appears in front of the entire crowd. He removes his fez in a tip-of-the-hat motion and begins to speak.

"Welcome, dudes and dudettes, to the Mystery Shack!"

The crowd greets his announcement with a semi-excited applause. He waits for the last person to stop before continuing on.

"What you may see in here may mystify and astound you," he says as his voice turns more solemn. He holds his fez over his heart, lowering his head. "It may even scare you." 

Everyone goes silent for a second

"-but you guys have nothing to worry about! As I, Mr. Mystery, will be your guide into Oregon's unknown!"

The crowd eats it up. I smile. His performance is so corny and hokey, I can't help but laugh a little. Maybe I should take the tour? I came out all this way. Let's forget my troubles for a little while with something fun, or, at least, fun _ny_.

As I'm smiling and chuckling to myself, I sense a twinge of unease. It's as if someone is right behind me, ready to strike. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight. In my panic, my mind goes back to the whisper on the bus. Was someone really there? Is there a person actually stalking me? Every muscle in my body feels tense.

"BOO!"

I leap about ten feet into the air, screeching. The little strawberry blonde lady responsible removes her fish monster mask. Looking at it, I shake my head. Really? I was scared by that old thing? The lady’s giggling as I start to feel lightheaded. I'm still clutching my heart as she unzips her fanny pack.

"It's five dollars for a tour. Want a ticket?"

Five bucks? I have five bucks. I pull out my wallet.

"D-do y'all have change fer a ten?"

She nods with a smile, digging through the satchel. I get a fiver and a stub in return. She then goes to everyone in the rest of the crowd, asking them the same question.

I feel my cheeks go beet red. I must've sounded so shrill just then. So....ugh. No. Not gonna think about this anymore. Just, go enjoy the shack, alright? Get your mind off of your worries and this. Focus on the present. Listen to the birds chirping from the top of the trees. Breathe the valley air. Ground yourself. You can do this.

We're lead into the cabin (which smells just like the stupid bus for future reference) by our host. The first thing that comes into my view is the plethora of merchandise lining the shelves. Bobbleheads that look like somebody's greasy grandpa stare me down. Not really menacing, not even in the slightest, but still, little creepy. The next thing I spot is the huge statue by the cash register. More of this greasy grandpa business. I read the plaque at the bottom of the likeness.

_Our Founder: Stanley Pines_

Poor guy. He had an entire life to live, and he spent it building this goofy place? Stuff like this really makes you wonder about what goes on inside other folks heads.

"Sorry about that!"

Mr. Mystery rounds up the parents and their kids again, after he seemingly disappeared for a second.

"Just had to say hi to two little dudes, dudes. C'mon, mystery awaits!"

The tour goes just about as anyone would expect. Mr. Mystery shows us some supposedly haunted or enchanted items. There's some silly makeshift taxidermy cryptids, completely made-up lore for said cryptids, and even a few jokes peppered in here and there. Honestly? The highest point out of this entire month. Yes, it was cheap and it was kiddy, but shoot if it didn't put a smile on my face. For the first time in days, I'm actually having fun!

"Alright dudes, that's the end of the tour! Be sure to check out the gift shop!"

Oh.

I hobble back out to the main room, crestfallen. Back to my horrible reality, I guess. Suddenly, I feel a slight tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I see it's Mr. Mystery.

"Hey, dude, you feeling okay?"

Look at what you've done now, idiot.

"Y-yeah! Just, sad it's over, is all."

He smiles, flashing his buck teeth.

"Wait right here. Have I got something for you."

Great, now he's pitying you. Look at you. You threw a hissyfit, and now he's treating you like a child. Ugh. Why can't I just keep everything closed in like a regular guy?

He comes back with a baggie, filled with I don't even know what. It didn't look too heavy, but I couldn't see what was inside. Ironically, it was the only mysterious thing about this shack.

"I usually give these to kids who are having a bad day, but it looks like you could use one, dude."

I just smile and nod as I grasp hold of the handles, trying not to make eye contact with the man. How pathetic am I, huh? Before I turn to walk out, however, he reaches over and nabs something from a nearby shelf, and stuffs it into the bag. He did it so fast, I couldn't even tell what it was. He winks.

"On the house."

Fighting everything inside of me telling me to hand this all back to him, I thank Mr. Mystery as I walk through the door, and out into the woods. I break out in tears as I jog away.

 

\-------

 

It's about noon as I notice I'm lost in the thickness of the forest. My backpack and guitar begin to cut into my shoulders, so I set my stuff down and find a place to sit. Sunbeams shine down from the canopy above, giving me only slight viewing of the blue Oregon sky. Lord, it's a beautiful summer. Mulling it over, I muster my courage, and dig through the pity bag.

There's two granola bars, and a fruit juice pouch. So, I get something to eat today after all. Slowly, I munch on the first bar, and see what else is in the sack.

A yo-yo made to look like an eyeball, two plastic spider rings, some crayons, a little Mothman themed coloring book, and.....

Hey, what's this?

My fingers trace over smooth glass as I examine the item closer. There's a big ball on top of a square black and yellow base, filled with water and this strange shiny goo. I shake it a little, and the glittery liquid swirls around playfully, then returns to almost its original shape. I read the label on the bottom part.

_WARNING: Dimensional Rift_

Huh. Really? I look at the underside of the plastic base.

_MADE IN CHINA_

Knew it.

My thumb traces over the the glass as I look off into the space before me. What am I even going to do about shelter tonight? I don't have enough money for a hotel, I don't know if there's a park in town, heck, I don't even know how to get back to town. My life's just a downright mess. Maybe if I hadn't spent that five dollars on that dumb kiddie thing I'd've-

The snow globe tumbles to the ground.

...If I woulda just been born normal, none of this would even be-

_Hey kid..._

A shiver crawls up my spine. That same whisper from the bus, only it feels so much louder now. I hear it hiss again.

_Hey kid, got a deal for ya..._

There's almost an echo in the whispers voice. I try to push it out of my head. It keeps getting stronger.

_You wanna be a real man, right? I can do that for ya..._

My entire being feels icy.

_You just gotta shake my hand kid, and you'll have it! A home, a loving family, a better body..._

Shake a hand? I don't see any...

Then I do. The shadow of a spindly outstretched arm next to my leg gets my attention. The rock. The rock I've been sitting up against. That's what's talking to me.

Leaping to my feet, I shuffle around to the front of the thing. Well, it's not so much a rock. It's more of a sunken statue of a one eyed triangle man. It's hand looks ever more enticing. 

_Tick tock, kid..._

This thing says it can make me normal? Just like that? A little handshake, then I'm free from my gross body and I'll have a house again?

That's the best news I've heard all year.

  
\-----------

_  
BEEP BEEP BEEP_

I feel my re-purposed pager vibrating wildly. No time to explain. In a whirlwind of quiet emotions, I rush past my brother, and stomp up the old wooden stairs. Need to unpack that fancy portable computer given to me by my old friend. The door bursts open, and a musty odor assaults my nose. The suitcase was tucked in the corner.

Please, just be another false alarm. All I want is a nice peaceful summer with the kids. I don't need this.

On my brother's bed, I open up the case and the laptop. My finger dashing to the trackpad, I click the triangle icon in the upper corner. A display of all seven of the psychic energy sensors appears in a window. The activity read-out on sensors four onwards went haywire for a second, but then stopped dead. One and two show signs of only slightly-above average readings, but three is still going crazy. I shut the computer in frustration.

This data could mean anything.

A knock on the door breaks me from my trance. "Ford?"

I turn my head, and there in the doorway is my twin brother, Stan. There's a mix of annoyance and worry in his expression as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. He glances at the computer, and then back at me.

His tongue clicks against his cheek. "What're we dealing with Poindexter?"

"It's hard to know," I tell him, honestly, as I like to think I'm an honest man, "I’ll have to go check it out myself."

My body goes to pick up my coat from the chair I laid it on when we first got back. I hurry past Stan, and he lets out a grunt of something unintelligible. Perhaps a swear? After sliding the jacket on, out of habit, I check both pockets. "I want you to stay here with the kids."

I can feel him roll his eyes from behind me. "Really, that whole time at sea, and you still won't let me help you with this?"

Not this again. "Stanley I don't want to talk about it right now." Good, everything's where I left it. His stare still creeps along my back. I have to take off my glasses and rub my eyes. The anxiety is killing me.

"Look. It might be a telekinetic deer, or it might be something else entirely.” He needs to stay here. Everyone needs to just stay here. “Either way, you're the only one I can count on to keep the kids safe."

A hand grasps me by the shoulder. "Just, don't get yourself killed, alright?"

I look back at him and nod. "Wouldn't dream of it."

I hurry down to the door, and past both my great-niece and great-nephew, Dipper and Mabel. They are still sitting in the living room watching the television. The both of them gasp as they look at me, almost scrambling to my side. I did sort of run off without warrant, didn't I?

"Great Uncle Ford! What's wrong?" Dipper asks, as Mabel tugs my coat. I see the young boy’s eyes go wide. “Is there something we need to investigate upstairs?”

Mabel stops tugging as I look over to her. "Did the acorn I planted in Grunkle Stan's shower drain turn into a tree?"

I ruffle both of them on the head. "No, no. There's just something I need to take care of. A friend I forgot to tell I was back."

They both nod understandingly as they go back to watching cartoons. Good. There's no sense in them worrying over this too, especially when it might just end up being nothing.

I head out the door and into the woods, breaking some sticks as I trample along. The afternoon forest air tastes crisp as I soldier on. Another pang of anxiety hits me. Please, let this be nothing. A psychic squirrel. Somebody thinking too hard. Anything but-

Oh no.

I reach the horrible, accursed statue, and leaning up against it, napping away, is a halfway-chubby, pale, young person with messy black hair. The poor thing looks like a rag doll, what, with them in khaki pants with holes in the knees, a heavily faded black t-shirt, a pair of worryingly well-worn fabric sneakers, and padlock on a string around their neck. Their eyes are closed, but behind the lids is a faint blue glow. There's a half-eaten granola bar on the forest floor, now swarming with ants. I feel my breath get short and my chest hurt.

This is not nothing.

I dive into their pockets. Who is this person? Why did they come here? In their wallet I find a learner's permit. ------ ------- _Mason_? Did they cover the first two names with tape? The permit is from California. There's also a ticket stub for the shack, five dollars, and no credit cards inside. They do look young enough to be a tourist's kid. Soos seems to have given them a Bad Day Pouch, and even threw in one of those terrible rift snow globes. That really points to child for me. Then again, if that was the case, their parents would be out here looking for them. Plus, going by the birth date, they're about twenty-three years old. They certainly don't look it.

I guess there's only one way to know for sure.

  
\-------

  
Where am I?

This isn't the forest I was just in, and there’s no statue in sight. Blackness. Eternal blackness. Limbs are numb. Body is numb. Am I falling? A light? Who is it?

“ _So, you’re the kid who shook my hand?_ ”

Triangle seems to be talking. No mouth. Twirling cane. Tips hat. Says name? Floating, not falling like I am. I'm tearing up. Head feels light. Very alert. Triangle circles me. Is this a dream? No, the statue came to life, right? This is happening. Reality.

“ _That’s right._ ”

Real. This is real. Not a dream. Tangible. Everything is so tangible. Falling deeper into black. Fear of the unknown. Where am I going to land? Fire? Spikes? Acid? Am I going to die?

“ _Settle down there! I still need you, kid._ ”

Needs me? Am I necessary to this triangle? A purpose. Haven’t had one of those in a while. Said he’d help me. Will he? Why did I leap into this? Is he trustworthy?

“ _Listen, before your little mind starts wandering, I'm gonna tell you a secret._ ”

Floats closer. In my face. Stare hypnotizing.

“ _You’re not dying here. You die at 78 of a punctured lung._ ”

I look down, and see water-damaged hardwood floors coming into view. My thoughts become more structured as the vine-ridden walls of an old Louisiana mansion appear beside me. It’s all black and white, and kinda blurry, like some old movie I saw my mom watching years ago. Again, where am I?

“ _This is where the magic’s gonna happen, kid! We’re gonna go through your memories, and replace them with better ones before we start the physical part of your...transformation._ ”

The triangle was still floating around me. Bill, I think he said his name was? (Did he say it?) This Mr. Bill certainly seems happy to help me. There’s something about him I can't shake though. Something, not right.

Almost, dare I say it, hellish?  
  
...

Wait, what in Sam Hill am I worried about? This isn’t your first run-in with a demon, you dumb idiot, and it’s not the first one you’d be able to outsmart if it comes to it. At least this one isn't asking for my phone number.

He must be reading my thoughts, as he chuckles soon after. “ _Sounds like you’ve had a strange life there!_ ”

“Haha yeah, stuff like that just, seems to find its way to me?” I say in response, rubbing my neck. “I guess I've always been a magnet to the weird.”

The wood floors creak as we continue on. This Bill fellow’s talking up a storm. Lil guy sure loves to gab, huh? Not much of a talker myself, but I don't think he seems to mind. I never can listen for too long when someone’s talking to me. Their body language and posture really say so much more than their words, and boy are his telling me a story. The way he contorts reality around him for almost every expression doesn't really get my attention, oddly enough. It’s the fact his hands are constantly in motion, as if trying to match the pace of his speech. It doesn't seem like a conscious effort on his part. If that’s because he’s so good at hiding it or if he’s just making the story up as he goes, I'm uncertain.

“ _So, did you get any of that?_ ”

“Yer my fairy godparent-yadda yadda-you’ll grant me my noble wish and make it so I don't even remember any of the bad things-blah blah pbbth-” The raspberry I made seems to annoy him. “-and all you ask is that I let you stay around.”

His brow furrows. I shrug. Guess he’s mad I can see through his little lie. Not knocking him for trying though. It was pretty original, to say the least.

Wonder what he’s really planning?

  
\------

  
Only think I've done that once.

Just like that, I'm standing in front of an old mansion. It looks, ancient, and terrible leafless black vines sprawl from the bottom up. There's a faint smell of incense in the air, along with, is that, burning flesh? Why would that be here?

Next to me, a small gated cemetery with only two headstones. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I walk over to inspect the text.

_Susan Abigail Mason_

A sibling, maybe? Hate to jump to that conclusion, but Bill has been known to prey on twins. Past performance is indicative of future behaviors. What does the other grave say?

 _Rebecca Ginger Mason_  
_Mother and Wife_  
~~_Glad you're dead_ ~~

Charming. It's safe to assume they're not here with their family.

There's a cool sugary breeze as I scout out even more of the area. I look to the front porch of the mansion, and there's an old black guitar sitting in a rocking chair. As I'm climbing up to investigate, the steps creak and squeal like a suppressed demon. It's haunting, to say the least. The wicked vines sprawl up the pearly columns that hold the balcony, squeezing the pillars for dear life. It's as if the whole house is held captive by the plants, and it's screaming for help.

Bill does love preying on the vulnerable and impressionable.

This is obviously our mystery person's dreamscape. That blasted three-sided jerk is probably lulling this poor young adult into a sour deal as I stand on this porch! I’ve got to find them before it’s too late.

Barging in the door, I'm humbled by what I see inside. The interior of this mansion is much larger than the quaint outside would have you believe. In the center of the main room, there’s a bed completely draped in a white sheet, with a ring of lavender and magnolias surrounding it. I step over the flowers, and notice a few items on and next to the bed. By the pillow, there’s an old worn-out bible and a vial of holy water. The light dances off it beautifully.

Light?

There’s a stain-glass window on the wall, much higher than the outside of the house, in the shape of a circle. It depicts the young adult, blindfolded and tied up. They appear to be crying. The light shining through it ends where the ring of flowers begins. There was a somberness and a beauty to it, despite the bleak coloration. The curiosity in my very nature makes me ponder how all this rather poetic imagery connects.

That’s when I notice the cattle prod leaning against the leg of the bed. It’s incredibly out of place, but this person seems to associate it with the rest of the items. Perhaps keeping this on hand will help me fend off any nightmares or personal demons in the meanwhile? Don't want to cause too much of a disruption with dream manipulation, lest Bill figures out I'm in here with him. I'll need to stay hidden for this one.

In the hall beside me, footsteps echo from within. I shove the prod into a holster. Could it really be this simple for once?

  
\------

  
“ _So, where do you want to start?_ ” Bill says as he rubs his hands together greedily. “ _What’s the first bad memory you want to get rid of?_ ”

He sure seems eager. I think of recent events. The fridge incident. I would honestly love to forget the fridge incident.

The memory materializes as a door behind me. I open it, and see in full color a recreation of it unfolding. Angy’s head is on fire, I'm grabbing the hose from the sink, the black smoke triggers the fire alarm, and all the sprinklers are broken. It won't be long now until the fire department and Angy’s partner arrive. Great. Thank you for reminding me why I would want to forget this, door.

How does a fridge catch fire anyways? It’s supposed to be cold. Cold means icy, and ice means no warmth. It should’ve swallowed up the fire before it spread, right? It’s times like these I regret not paying attention in class.

“ _Sheesh. You weren't lying when you said weird things tend to happen around you._ ” Bill says in a flat, but wary tone. “ _Not even Sixer was this bad._ ”

Hrmm?

“Sixer?”

For a second I see panic in his eye. “ _Sixer’s, an old buddy of mine. Don't worry about it._ ”

If he says so. Though, folks don't usually get anxious when talking about old friends.

" _Anyway, enough gawking. You want this thing gone? Blammo._ ”

He snaps his fingers. The door disappears. In an instant, I completely forget what he just erased. It’s entirely out of my mind! I have to feel my head to make sure this really just happened. Bill tips his hat to me, proud of his handiwork. “ _I_ _t’s like there’s something on the tip of your tongue you can't recall, right?_ ”

“Yeah, exactly!”

He rubs his nails on his body and blows on them with, his eye-mouth? Neat. His brow then wiggles a bit.

“What else can you do?” I ponder out loud. I'm still wary of this guy, but for right now he seems to be cool. It’s kinda like he wants to impress me thoroughly before we get down to business? I can dig it. All work and no fun makes Jack a dull boy.

“ _Me? Oh, I can do_ ** _lots_** _of things._ ”

The walls dissipate with a snap as we enter a realm bursting with color. Neon signs of red, pink and yellow nearly blind me with their radiance, and the voices of people passing by cloud my hearing. Heels on concrete, the scent of sweat and fortune rushing through the air. There’s a Wed and Bed down the street, and bottles and bottles of Rich People Water are stuffed into a nearby trash can.

It’s the Vegas Strip! I've always wanted to see the strip at least once in my life. Dad taught me all the tricks in the book before he was sent to jail, and I'd love to know how well I'd do in an actual game of poker. Hey, guess I can now, huh? We’re right in front of a big cool looking casino.

“Know how to deal out cards Mr. Cipher?”

If his mouth wasn't also his eye, I think he’d be smiling right now.

“ _Kid, prepare to be amazed._ ”

  
\-------

  
The footsteps became silent as I took the turn into another long hall. No. I can't lose track of them now! I dart past doorway after doorway until-

“Hello Mister! Goodbye Mister!”

A child’s voice rings out in my ear as I run past them at an alarming pace. I turn back around, and the child is still standing there, in a pair of overalls. Along with their green striped shirt, and messy black hair. A big gap-toothed grin is on their tiny face as they look at me. What is the inner child doing out here in the dreamscape? This little one should be deep in the primal memories. Guess I could use their assistance while they’re here. They’d know the place better than I would.

“Hello there, uh, sport?” I wave a little at them. Admittedly, I'm not the best with children. I'm a more, stern and structure based personality, to which kids in their very natures are essentially the antithesis. Well, there's that, and then there’s also the fact I'm a bit lenient when it comes to them, having given my great-niece a crossbow last summer without a second thought. Stan almost cut off my head for that incident.

“What, would you like me to call you, kid?”

“You can call me a boy Mister Man, ‘cause that’s what I am!” He proudly states, fists on his hips, chest puffing out. “Haha, I made a rhyme!”

He’s certainly got, personality, I'll give him that much. Seems to be full of energy too. Great. Love it. He’ll be bouncing off the walls in utter chaos if I'm not too careful. Bill would put me through something like this, wouldn’t he? Wait, he’s walking closer. I think the boy just noticed my hands. Oh no. Here it comes. That question people always ask. The boy’s eyes are alight with curiosity. Brace yourself, Stanford.

“Wow! Mister are you a superhero?”

That’s, unexpected? A superhero? Really?

“No, no,” I chuckle warmly as I kneel down to his level, “I'm no superhero son. Just an ordinary old fart trying to help some poor young man in trouble.”

He's not having it. “You gotta be a superhero! You got cool sideburns like Wolverine, and a mutation like the rest of the X-Men! You can't fool me, Mister!”

I’ve always been more of a Superman fan myself, so I know next to nothing about the X-Men. If this boy thinks I'm a member however, I might as well play along. It could even help me blend in with his memories.

“You caught me son. I'm here trying to find a criminal triangle who’s done some very bad things. Can you lead me to him?”

The boy huffs a little. “I knew that guy was bad news! He’s like, every supervillain rolled into one! But does Big Me listen? Oh nooooo! Big Me’s an adult. Big Me knows what he’s doing!”

Never in my life have I seen such an embittered child.

“Anyways yeah I can help you find him Mister Hero.” Glad something good came from my chase. “Hey! What’s your superhero name?”

Oh, didn't think he’d ask a question like that. I tug my collar. “Well, most people just call me-”

“I know! I know!” He says loudly, nearly throwing me off my balance. “You’re Sixer! That’s your name!”

Sixer? My old childhood nickname? Now, where would he have gotten that from? That was sarcasm. Bill must have said something about me. Lovely.

No, I don't have time to worry about that right now. I need to save this young man before Bill coaxes him into something he’ll regret for the rest of his life.

I nod. “Yes, that’s me. I'm Sixer, and I'm here to help.”

The halls themselves seem to light up as wall lanterns appear out of nowhere. They lead down a specific path, seeing as the way I came in from has none. The boy starts dancing and spinning around, yelling something about meeting a real life superhero. It feels, kind of nice, having this child I barely know think of me so highly.

No.

No it’s not.

You stop thinking this way right now Stanford Pines. You are happy just being a hero’s brother. You’re here to help this boy and ward off a resurrected Bill, just like any other rational person with your knowledge would do. You’re not here to play savior.

“Mister Sixer, it’s this way, okay?”

I nearly forgot about the lamps and the boy. “Thank you, son. Please, lead on.”

  
\-------

  
The lamps lead into a dark and foreboding looking hall. There are no cobwebs here, unlike earlier in the much brighter passageways. The inner child shakes slightly, trying not to let me see how much this gloomy decor frightens him. Usually, from what I’ve read about dreamscape-diving, the dark halls or passageways are the ones that are supposed to be covered in mental cobwebs, due to an attempt to forget undesirable memories. The positive memories are the ones that are typically clear of clutter, as they are more commonly revisited.

This, is obviously abnormal. Such a hyper-focus on the bad parts of your past cannot be healthy. I would know.

A tiny hand grips my index finger. “Mister Sixer, I'm scared.”

The inner child is huddling up beside me, his hands cold and trembling. The vines on the walls are much thicker than the ones on the porch, and the smell of the nice lavender and hardy wood is seemingly nonexistent, as the scent of mildew, mold, and that horrid burning flesh rage and assault the nostrils. An oppressive but subtle thumping noise surges from vines. Almost like a heartbeat. Even I, a man who has seen and almost been slaughtered by visceral monsters from nightmarish realms, feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight, and my blood go ice cold.

The sounds. The ones coming from the doors. They frighten me.

The noise from beyond the mental gateways, the violent, inhuman, screeches and soul-cutting slurs of a woman who is in obvious distress, are almost completely inaudible.

Almost.

The whole experience reminds me of the times I went to haunted houses as a child, often on a dare from a schoolyard bully, alongside the many times I had to fend for myself on my thirty year voyage. Everything in here makes me feel alone, restless, and afraid.

I'm two years away from my sixties. Imagine what it must be like for this young man.

“You gotta be really brave, Mister Sixer. No other hero I've met has survived this long.”

“Survived?”

The boy clasps down harder on my hand. “They always get torn up or broken by Her before That One Thing.”

That isn't comforting.

Suddenly, a door behind us swings open with a loud bang. On instinct, my hand clasps hold of the prod. I turn around and see a warm yellow glow emanating within. From it, the harshness of a thick southern drawl from a shrill and angry woman plagues my ears.

“ _Susan Abigail Mason, I told you how I feel about you readin’ those comic books!_ ”

“ _Momma, please, they're Bubba and Dirks old ones! Can't I keep ‘em?”_

“ _Little girls shouldn't be reading these accursed things! Folks’ll talk! Do you think I want to be the laughing stock of the neighborhood all because my lil Abby Sue’s a big ol’ freak?!_ ”

“ _But Momma-_ ”

Noises of a struggle followed. Susan is crying out for her to stop, but this, woman, she refuses to yield. I hear the tearing of paper, plus desperate yells and screams. A pit in my stomach forms. A worry. This, this shouldn't be this way. From a father I could understand, but a mother? Poor boy had to sit and watch his twin sibling deal with this horrible moment. This isn't even that deep down the corridor. There are memories worse than this?

“ _MOMMA-!_ ”

The door closes like it opened. The grip on my hand was tighter than a python’s. I squeeze his a little tighter too.

“My boy, we should press onward. The quicker we find Bill, the better.”

He nods in agreement, tears on his cheek.

\-------

This young man certainly has not had the best run of luck. Constantly teased by older twin brothers, mother always down his back and, something I'm more familiar with, schoolyard bullies singling him out for his quirks; this boy had seen it all. No mention of the sibling however. Perhaps, something horrible happened to her in childhood. A sudden death? It would explain the families odd behavior.

It's gotten so bad for this boy, I had to pick up the inner child and let him sit on my arm as I carry him. He’s got every right to feel intimidation. Unlike me, his brothers didn't seem to care about his well-being, and were more fed-up with his existence than anything. Every scrape he got into, every time his mother yelled at him for a bloody nose or derogatory term written on him in marker, every moment he was alone in the world, it was here. I pat the back of the inner child’s head lightly. Comfort. The boy needs comfort. Just like I did.

This is a bad habit of mine, isn't it? Wanting to help people in trouble. Even in the thirty years of traveling through dimensions, it’s a streak I still can't manage to break. I know it annoyed Stan to the highest degree while we were sailing. ‘Just let them be, you don't need to topple the evil Atlantean regime, Ford’. How could I not? There were thousands of innocent merpeople suffering at the hands of that tyrannical crustacean. Someone had to do something.

“Mister Sixer,” the boy whispers, “It’s coming up.”

I'm guessing he means That One Thing he was alluding to earlier. This event had to be some sort of boiling point between him and a major figure in his life. His mother, perhaps? What kind of clash would this even be? Maybe there’s something about this missing sister? My curiosity is just as strong as my sympathy. I have to know.

The thumping heartbeat of the vines gets louder and louder as I stride forward. Looking up, I see the lamps are still burning bright, yet for some reason they only serve to make the hallway more menacing. A thick fog begins to sprawl around my feet as we keep going further into the hall. The buzzing of flies and a thick, earthy, yet rotting smell blows in from almost nowhere. The wood beneath my feet quickly turns into marshland. Giant vines were sealing up various doors, their tendrils also weeding into the other’s frames, forcing them open. With every deafening thump, the plant mass lets off an unearthly glow.

This has to be the thick of it. I'm wading into the darkest parts of his mind. My own turns it’s gears. This, event the boy was talking about, That One Thing, had to be close now. I can't help but wonder what it is. Is it a trauma? Or is it a mistake he made? This sister, did she…?

I just, I'd love to have some light shed on this mystery.

The lamps are no help in that regard. It’s nearly pitch black in the hall as the Inner Child cries out, grasping onto my coat. Taking a moment to readjust him, I use my free hand to feel against whatever remains of the original hall. A thick vine greets my fingers. The lamps, despite only allowing themselves to be seen, appear to be going in the same direction of this twisted mental flora. The pulse is loud, and I can feel it all the way up my arm.

I'm steps away from this horrible memory. I must be.

\-------

“Geez, Mr. Cipher, quit going easy on me huh?”

I've been winning hand after hand against Bill and his, clones? Doubles? I don't know what they are, but I do know they suck at poker. Seriously, is he letting me win? Trying to lull me into a false sense of superiority or something? I don't get it. He has me and my soul on a platter. What’s with the kiss-upery?

He tilts to the side, eye half open as he reshuffles the cards. “ _Sorry kid, you're just too good for me._ ” He shrugs.

Malarkey. There’s something he’s hiding. Something he wants me distracted for. This is just like when my demon ex-boyfriend tried to steal my soul so I could never leave him. Except, y’know, I don't think Mr. Bill wants that from me. Well, I mean, I don't know? Maybe he’s interested? Wouldn't know why. Plus, I’m just not exactly ready for that kind of relationship again. Junior really left me cold.

Suddenly, that red and black blur rushes past me again. That’s like, what, the fifth time? This all feels really fishy to me.

I sit up from the table. “Legs are gettin’ a bit stiff, mind if I have a walk?”

He can tell I'm lying. “ _I know you’re curious about the guy who keeps rushing by, but forget it. He’s nobody important kid._ ”

I smirk.

“Then you won't mind if I go investigate? If he really is nothing special, that is.”

His pupil shrinks. Ka-snip. Snatched.

I walk towards the exit, when Bill blocks the way, ten times bigger than he was.

“ _He’s nobody. I’m warning you!_ ”

Honestly. I push one of his bricks in, and within seconds, a doorway appears. He stares in disbelief. I make it about five feet before a giant cage falls on top of me.

“ _Sit back down squirt, you’re making me angry!_ ”

Yep, he definitely wants me. It's so obvious now. The deal, the letting me win, offering to help with a bad lie just to get all up in my relationship history, it all makes sense. He wants to go out with me!

Why am I so irresistible to demons?

I pull out my pocket knife and flip to the screwdriver tool. With a little encouragement, the lock falls off and I'm almost at the exit. A hand grabs my shoulder.

“ **You’ll regret this, Thomas James Mason.** ”

Like I've never heard that before.

I shrug him off and step out of the casino and onto the street. It was, bare? I could have sworn there were a bunch of people outside before I went in. All that catches my eye is a figure in the street, a few steps to the left.

They’re clutching a bronze statuette, hurriedly looking left and right. The figure gets a glance at me. They then turn around and, come running back to the casino?

Wait a second.

I know this guy.

The fez, the suit, the glasses, it’s that greasy grandpa from the shack! What was his name, Stan? What’s he doing here?

“ _DON’T WORRY, I’M COMING KIDDO!”_

What in the high heavens is going on.

Before I know it, my torso is nabbed by an old man. He’s holding me backwards, letting me see this giant red triangle forming, breaking through the roof of the building. I can only stare in slack-jaw confusion and bewilderment.

This Bill guy can't take rejection well at all.

  
\-------

  
I'm going to vomit.

The boy...

The boy doesn't have a sister.

She, that awful lady, she was talking about him.

Then, in that memory, his mother, she…

She….

  
\-------

  
With a toss, I'm out of Vegas and back into the grey hallway again. I land on my back, the wood creaks, and then I watch the greasy grandpa guy stand over me, a gritted look in his eye.

“Stay outta’ trouble. I'm goin’ back in to hold him off.” He grunts, his voice as gravely as it is deep. “Find Stanford. Dumb nerd should be in here by now.”

I shake myself to my senses.

“Why….. how are you here? Who are you?”

He’s about to step in as he looks off to the side, and then back at me. “I'm just yer Guardian Grunkle, kiddo. Now get those feet movin’!”

The man slams the door shut, then the frame completely disappears. Like that, I'm left to myself and to wonder about whatever that combination of events even was. What the heck is a Grunkle? Why do I have one? Are they the only thing that can fight off a triangle? Who’s Stanford?

I look at my hands, and turn them to fists.

Answers aren't gonna come to me while I'm sitting on the floor.

I get my feet movin’, as he so eloquently put it, and come across a junction, seeing a line of lanterns going down one side of the hall. The left end looks, well, haunted and rotten in the worst way, and the other seems to turn into chain fences, alleyways, and brick walls after a ways.

Guess which one my dumb reckless self is going down.

  
\-------

  
The inner child had vanished, as soon as I opened that door. A door on a bulging, tangled, core of dark energies. Those black vines, aren't vines at all. They’re roots. Roots that all lead back to this memory. This, horrible, vile memory.

I've done a couple exorcisms before, but none of them ever indicated the need to do away with a person’s gender identity, or employ the use of a cattle prod.

This woman, this beast if you will, made this boy feel like there was something spiritually wrong with him, when there was nothing to be scared of. He’s trans. Not possessed or brainwashed. He doesn't have six fingers. There's no triangular demon telling him to dress like a boy in the back of his head. He’s just, trans, and she punished him for it.

Have I been out of the loop too long? All across the dimensions I traversed, I saw many genders and gender expressions portrayed by locals. While I learned to appreciate all walks of life due to this, the knowledge apparently also blinded me to the still vast prejudice of this planet.

He just wants to exist. Not achieve a lifelong goal, or execute some big scheme. Only to exist among other people.

If he needs my help to do that, so be it. I will lend as many hands I can afford to spare.

Traversing the hall’s getting even more perilous, as I look onward. I may still be in the muck, but I was heading into the self-loathing. Wallpaper torn apart and hateful messages written in a deep black pigment began to slowly replace the marshlands, my legs still sinking in the swamp. More burning flesh. The black roots, although less prominent than before, still grasping hold tightly. Dimly lit and oppressive to walk through, the atmosphere alone made it hard to keep upright.

I find myself at a light head, unable to walk a straight line without teetering off course and crashing into a wall. My arm comes to my aid, resting on a root as I look into the dark fog ahead. Was my grip within this mind slipping? Is the boy waking up? Had Bill already seized control? Am I too late?

The words on the walls start to seem eerily familiar. I close my eyes for a second, but then-

“Hello? ...Is someone there?”

A voice? Out of the mist I see a figure emerge. It’s hard to tell their features, but that unkempt pompadour was unmistakable. The young man I'm trying to save, it’s him.

I try to make my way towards him, but I feel a lurch in my stomach keep me against the wall. The stench wafting from the bog is remarkably foul, and it’s finally gotten the better of man who once slept inside a carcass to keep warm. Now that I know the raw emotion behind it, the smell now almost seems to lash out at me. It whips its thorny tendrils at my head and back, and brings tears to my eyes.

Wait, that’s not the smell.

A series of actual thorny vines ensnare and entangle me, as from the murk a humanoid figure emerges. At face value, he resembles the silhouette of the boy, but his hair has long since fallen off, his clothes with holes and mud stains, and his ghoulish body? Uncannily leathery, rail-thin, and dripping in muck and mire. The roots of the tragedy have a very deep hold on his legs, but that's not stopping him from trying to gnaw off my face.

I brace for impact.

Oddly enough, after a few seconds of waiting, the sound of a struggle plays out. I open my eyes to see the non-undead boy beating back his bog mummy doppelgänger with a chair leg. It’s a valiant effort, that is until the monster takes the leg and snaps it in two. The boy looks around, desperate, as the beast closes in. It almost looks like all hope is lost-

Oh yes! The cattle prod!

Using what little range of motion I have left, I toss the prod as far as I can. It lands next to the boy’s feet, clanging against the hardwood. His eyes go wide. As if instinctively, he grabs it and flicks it on with a click, pointing it at the mummy. The hum of electricity seems to be the creature’s kryptonite, if its reactions indicate anything. In moments, it went from sizing the boy up, to hunching over and afraid. It backs away, seemingly taking the entire marsh with it. The black vines that held me slink back into the muck, and the muck away from my feet. I'm standing on hardwood floors again as the boy walks up next to me. He’s still for a minute, but then smashes the prod against his knee, shattering it into two pieces, which dissipate into dust before it hits the floor. We lock eyes.

“Uh, Thomas Mason, though most just call me Tommy. Are you a Mr. Stanford?”

I push against the wall, standing up straight, and extending a hand.

“Actually, it’s doctor.”

Shakily, we grasp each other's palms.

“Stanford Filbrick Pines, PhD. At your service.”

  
\-------

_  
I can't believe they found each other this fast. I had a plan y’know, and now it’s ruined! It’s all thanks to you, Fish Face! Y’know, you’ve been a thorn in my side for too long, Pines. Since Weirdmageddon, you’ve done nothing but get in my way!_

_It’s time I dealt with that, once and for all…_

_  
\-------_

  
So, this really is all in my head then.

Dr. Pines and I keep our pace up as we follow the lanterns hanging above our heads. He says they’ll lead to that Bill person, and that then we can destroy him due to some technical sounding mumbo-jumbo. The lil’ triangle guy just kinda seems desperate to me. Dunno why we have to destroy him, but hey, if it means getting out of whatever madhouse this is, I'm all for it. Think he called it my dreamscape? Whatever. I'm, still kinda reeling from what I had to do back there.

It looked just like me. It was mummified and disgusting, but it looked just like me. I had, I had to fend it off with the prod. I didn't wanna think about that thing ever again, but there it was. I just, w-what if, y’know, this is my head right? What if that was some big metaphor for how I'm turning into her? Oh lord, I'm gonna wind up just like her ain’t I? Crooked and mangled in a motel room after being’ hit by a truck-

“Thomas?”

“Wuzzat?”

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You looked like you were zoning out. Are you ok?”

I nod. There’s no sense in bogging this old man down with my deep rooted emotional malarkey.

We move forward. The halls start to look less like, well, halls, and more like alleyways? Various noises come from behind the doors. All familiar. From Grandma crying about how I might be a bad omen, to my past romantic endeavors, to almost getting my body thrown in a ditch by some unhappy fae, it’s a big collection of my life. Mr. Pines doesn't seem very put-off from it though. He’s still walking tall and with a very fast stride. Almost official, like a soldier or a businessman. There’s something he’s hiding, I can tell. Whether he’s hiding it from me or someone else, that’s the issue.

Man, lots of people around this town have secrets.

We turn down a final alleyway, and wind up in this big cathedral-like room. There’s a fairy-tale like staircase behind this rickety looking bed, a couple of objects squatting on top. There’s a big ring of flowers, and light coming up from abov-

“Really?! Did it all just lead me in a circle?!”

Mr. Pines screams at the top of his lungs as he stomps around, mouth agape. Guess this is where he started out. As he’s fussing over himself, I look to the top of the stairway. There’s, a glow. A yellow glow. It’s like a bubble, with this...symbol? I don't know what it it’s supposed to be.

Wow. It, got awfully quiet all of a sudden.

" _Well, well, well, wellwellwellwellwellywell!_ ”

Oh Lordy Lou. This joker. Probably didn't get the hint the first time when I walked away. These primadonna types never do. Always getting what they want, when they want it. Hard enough to tell them to quit buying you drinks...

“Thomas, stay behind me!”

Now this guy’s tugging me around. Really? Everybody and their actual great uncle’s been giving me the shove in this mental labyrinth today. I think it’s about time I take some action for myself. This is supposedly my mind after all.

I walk up, take the demon by the hands, and look really deep into his eye. Everyone in the room falls silent, making me take in a deep anxious breath. C’mon Thomas. You’ve done this with a literal gorgon. A triangle should be no problem.

“Look, fella,” I start off, “you’re a real hot lil’ flirt, know that?”

Mr. Pines stops trying to call me back over, as I think I hear a pin drop.

“You’ve shown me a good time here. Offering to help me with all my body image issues, letting me win at cards to butter me up, heck, the free drinks were a great touch.”

Bill’s silent. I don't blame him. Hearing this is never easy.

“I’m just, I'm not ready for a relationship of that caliber yet, Mr. Cipher. I hope you can understand.”

He looks at me for a moment, incredulous. Probably isn't used to being let down. Again, these hotshot types never are.

“I think it’d be best if we just, left each other alone after all this. Wouldn't want things getting awkward, right?”

He’s still staring at me blankly as I turn to walk back towards Mr. Pines. Y’know, I think that went better than I-

“- _HAHAHAHAHAHHAHHHAAHAHAH!”_

W-what?

“ _Y-you thought, you thought I was_ ** _flirting_** _with you?! That, that’s rich, kid! Oh man! Wait ‘till Py hears about this! A human thought they were out of my league! Y-y’know, I'd be furious, if it wasn't for how pathetic you are! Hahahahahah!”_

I…

“ _You even almost had me for a second there! What, with the seeing through my little goodie-two shoes act? Good thing you humans are too self-absorbed and_ ** _stupid_** _to realize when you’re being led on!”_

…stupid?

“ _Thanks to IQ, my original plan for you went up in flames! Y’see, I was gonna lock you up in your own mind with all your unwanted memories that I was quote unquote erasing, and have you relive them again and again! But, seeing as there’s now a fresh body to shove you both in and have you tear yourselves apart for control over…”_

With a snap, a swirling vortex materializes below Mr. Pines and I before either of us have a chance to react. We’re sinking, fast. Everything’s going, dark. The last thing I feel is a solid shove as blackness overtakes me.

This is what I get for assuming.

  
\-------

  
A summer breeze tickles my nose, waking me from my sleep. The sun’s almost set, giving the forest a surreal orange tint. It’s like I woke up in a painting. How long was I out, anyways? Three hours? Five hours? It’s hard to tell. How did a forest full of curious and probably hungry living creatures let me sleep out here for so long without being woken up?

What was that dream I had about, anyway? Something about a superhero scientist?

I go to scratch my head, but stop immediately. No. Something feels off. This isn't my hair. It's the wrong texture. It’s soft. Like my grandpa’s, but thicker. There’s something else. My hands, they feel so strange. They’re too heavy. Too big. Too...what?

I bring a hand closer to my face, and feel my eyes go as wide as dinner plates as I stare down the individual digits.

My hands aren’t just bigger.

_There’s too many fingers._

My pulse skyrockets as I clasp my chest, hyperventilating. I'm still dreaming. I gotta be. There’s no way a human can have six fingers! I don't know anyone who has that many! Unless...

My dream…

I think, there was this superhero. Can’t remember his name, but he saved me. I was so small and scared, but, he held me up and kept me safe. Didn't let my mom get me, and walked right past all the monsters, not even blinking. He was so, strong, and smart, and…and he...

He had six fingers, too.

“ _Really? Giving your body to this kid? Fordsy, this is why you need me to keep you on your toes, you get dumb when I'm not around!”_

I bolt to my feet, the sound of my own voice startling to hear. Beside me, just a little ways to the side, there’s my body, and it’s...talking to… oh gosh, that’s the hero! He’s kinda, transparent. And floating. Is he a ghost? How is he a ghost?

Wait...

If I'm in his body, and he’s out floating around, then….who’s…….

The superhero looks over at me, and so does my body. The... _my_ eyes. They’re fully yellow, with cat-like pupils. A twisted smile crawls across my lips, making the stomach I currently own flip and chills run down the shoulders.

“ _Look who’s up and at ‘em!”_

Cat eyes slinks over towards me, slithering around. I try not to look at the hero. I don't think the old man knows I can see him, as he places his hand on my shoulder, and looks at me with wistful duty. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him narrow his eyes, and his expression change to hardened determination. He, tries to smooth out his body’s hoodie, and nods.

W-what does…

“ _Buzz off, Sixer!_ ” My body yells, shooing off the spirit. The demon uses my hands to grab the old man’s coat, my face getting close to his. I can smell my own breath, hot and reeking of granola.

“ _He’s not gonna help you. He’s got everything he wants!_ ”

I, huh?

“ _Yeah, it’s a little old, but the brat’s all set! Born male, and a loving family to go back home to. It’s everything we shook on. Right, twerp?_ ”

I feel Mr. Sixer’s eyes stare me down in distraught. The only thing I can do is swallow my regret and nod as I stare at old worn boots. Yeah, it’s, that’s our deal. The demon had fulfilled his side of the bargain, somehow.

“ _Now, kid, since I made good on my word, you’re gonna run off and live the rest of the old man’s life, or I'll do something you’re gonna regret for a very, very long time._ ”

The jovial trickster’s glance hardens, making my, I mean, his face, look very stern and serious, despite the wide, toothy grin. I have to catch my breath as he releases my jacket and scurries off, laughing, almost tripping over his feet. My own are frozen to the ground as I stare at them, tears welling up in my eyes. I run my hands down my face, trying to ground myself. There’s a tiny prick of hair. It, felt nice, but this isn't, this isn't how I _wanted_ this. I didn't...

I look at my right hand again, working the range of motion of the sixth finger with my left index and thumb. Deep breath. It’ll just be a constant reminder of who you’re not, Thomas. You know that. Oh, look at yourself! This isn't something you can go through with! What can I do, though? He made good on the deal, and I'm supposed go and live this old man’s life, and-

...

Isn't this man’s life, fighting evil?

  
\------

  
Bill’s got a good head start on me, but I'm closing the gap even faster. These legs were built for this, after all. The ethereal Mr. Sixer flies beside me, going just as fast. I don't have time to worry about him. Cipher. Gotta find Cipher.

I’m still charging fast when, beyond a few trees, I see the back of the demon’s head as he walks jerkily through the brush. As I'm almost on him, he turns to look behind, and his eyes go wider than any I've ever seen. He lets out a terrified scream as he tries desperately to pick up his own pace, trying to avoid my wrath. Too little too late.

In a flash of muscle memory, I tackle him to the ground, and both of us go rolling down the hill, kicking, biting, and punching. He runs out of breath before I could even shove him off. I do it anyways, and the force sends him smashing against a tree. He’s gasping desperately, unable to figure out that those chest bindings are what’s probably restricting his air intake. I stand up and stride towards his body as it lays on the forest floor in pain.

I grab him by his collar, and hold him up against the tree with one arm, the other reeled back, ready to punch.

“ _You’re supposed to be off, living the geezers life?! W-why are you-_ ”

He hacks and coughs, while struggling to loosen my grip.

I smile, and feel my deep voice reverberate through my entire chest. It, felt so good to say this. To, finally say this.

“This _is_ my life, Cipher. Chasing you down, and stopping you.”

He screams out as I delivered a series of of left hooks, causing his spit to turn red. I throw him on the ground, a little satisfaction in my heart. The demon himself flies out of the puppet he was piloting, the body he’s been possessing having gone unconscious.

“ _That, can't possibly be_ ** _you_** _! How did-_ ”

Like clockwork, the spirit of the hero flies up and tries to grab Bill from behind. He misses, but snatches his leg. A blue beam knocks the old man off as I try to aim a once holstered pistol at Cipher. My shots graze him, and the three sided menace goes deeper into the thick of the woods. No! Not when I'm so close!

I try to chase after him, but, something, stops me. A hand. A hand that’s reaching inside of me. A hand that-

  
\------

  
It’s almost dusk, with the sun about set. Thanks to Gravity Falls own bioluminescent flora, the path home shimmers like a starlit night. It’s, something I've missed about this strange little place.

It’s been an hour since, whatever this boy I'm carrying did to himself. Even I’m not sure what it was, to be honest. Something deep within him exploded in a fever pitch, causing the boy to brutalize his own body without second thought. I fear what would have happened if Bill had not been knocked out.

He seemed to start thinking he _was_ me, if only at the end there. Judging from what Dipper had noted about his experience with body exchange, it really should've taken far longer than just ten minutes for Thomas to start taking on my mannerisms and traits. Was this a testament to how much I despise Bill, or how much the boy hates himself? Perhaps it was some sort of vivid amalgamation of the two? Whatever the case, Thomas’ body was now worse for wear due to my own fists and mistakes.

His nose appears to have gotten broken during the fight, so I took the liberty of bandaging that up to stop the bleeding. The area around the right eye was swelling up due to the hard impact. A cold compress should be put on him as soon as possible, to keep that down. The repeated head trauma might’ve given him a concussion, but I won't know for sure until when and if he wakes up.

Please wake up, my boy.

The straps from his luggage cut into my shoulders, as I feel my knees get weak. I fall onto them, not out of exhaustion, but out of a deep emotional worry. It’s been too long, please wake up. I’m begging you, Thomas. After all that’s happened today, you can't fade away on me now.

I stare intently, checking his breathing and pulse.

After seven agonizing minutes, his eyes flutter open, lazily.

Thank the Axolotl.

He tries to sit up, but I rise to my feet once again, pressing forward. Slowly, I see him try to get his bearings. Eyes on the sky, the path forward, and then, finally, me. He coughs a little bit, before attempting to speak up.

“Are you that hero guy, or Bill?”

The hypothesis I’d been spinning around in my head while patching him up was correct, there’s no memory of our proper introduction. That means the entire romp within the dreamscape should feel like a faint, well, _dream_ to him, and nothing more. A faint sense of envy bubbles up, but then ebbs back down, as quickly as it came. I smile warmly.

“Hero. Dr. Stanford Pines, at your service, and you’re Thomas James Mason.”

He directs a glare at me.

“We’ve met.”

He takes his free arm and pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing in pain. I don't doubt that his head is aching fiercely.

“Nrgh, no offense, but I was kinda hopin’ I wasn't gonna wake up after you took yourself back.”

I press on, pretending I didn't hear him say that.

I fail to pretend.

How could he say that? After all that bravado and moxie, he thought he would just, succumb to his wounds, and fade away? Or worse, that I’d leave him to it? That I’d stand idly by as the tools to help him lay in front of me, only at an arm's reach? What, did this boy really think I wouldn't try to help him? That I wouldn't try and save him? That defeating Bill would be his last hurrah and he’d cease to be? What kind of moron hopes for that?

…

Me. I'm the kind of moron who would hope for that.

I hold the boy tighter, continuing through the thick of the woods.

Almost home, Thomas.

  
\-------

  
Out of the woods, we emerge into the clearing that rickety old shack calls home. This time, however, I'm getting a good view of the back porch. In the makeshift backyard, there’s a couple of kids playing around. Well, they were, until they saw Dr. Pines step out of the grove.

“Grunkle Ford!”

“Great Uncle Ford!”

Sounds like they know the Doc. They rush up to him, reaching a little above his hip, darting around him and asking questions. Mostly about me and my vast assortment of bandages. He rattles off some excuse, that I'm in too much danger for him to talk right now or, whatever. I'm not even that hurt.

There’s a creaking as we all step up the front porch, but I'm not sure if it’s the old man clad only in his underwear at the top, or the old stairs themselves that’s the source.

Newspaper under his sweaty arm, he looks at me with a gristle, and adamantly blocks Dr. Pines from going in.

“What’ve I told you about strays, Ford?”

“He’s _hurt_ , Stanley. He could be concussed, or-”

“That’s not _our_ problem. That’s his _family’s_ job to deal with.”

Dr. Pines looks down at me for a moment, his lip quivering. My eyes blink dully. Everything feels so far away and quiet...

“He, doesn't _have_ one, Stanley.”

The man who has to be Stanley raises his eyebrows, his eyes widening for a moment, but quickly narrows them again. His brow furrows as he pinches it, stepping aside.

“Homeless kids. You always find the homeless ones, and I just can't say no to them. Sometimes I could punch you in your big nerdy head, Poindexter.”

Ford gives him a warm smile.

“Same to you, Knucklehead.” He chuckles as he walks in, rolling his eyes.

Hold on, did he say Stanley a moment ago?

Like, Stanley Pines? That greasy grandpa? That one who founded that Mystery Shack thing?

... _He’s alive?_

  
\-------

  
Dinner came and left, with me hardly touching it. No way. Eating it would mean having to stay around longer than an hour, and that’s nothing doing. If I eat, I get cozy, if I get cozy, especially in a cute lil’ cabin like this, I’ll want to stay. If I stay, that’s when things start getting worse. As everyone starts to settle down in the den, I nab my stuff, and make a beeline for the door.

Well, more like a beeline into an old-man beer gut in the doorway to the kitchen. The cotton in my nose falls out after my collision.

“Got someplace to be, kiddo?”

It’s that Stanley guy. Thought he went into the other room with everyone else. He stands there, in front of me, still only clad in his underwear and a greasy undershirt. A bit like my own grandpa, actually. His hat tilts forward, as he puts his hands on his hips, leaning over me.

“Or, were ya just gonna skip town, like you always do?”

I scowl bitterly. “You don’t know me.”

“Kid,” he rattles off, “I do know you. Heck, I’ve pretty much _been_ you.”

He stands back up straight, his back popping a little bit.

“You run from problems, ‘cause ya scared t’ face ‘em dead on, and own up to ya faults, am I right?”

Well, dang. Maybe he does know me. I'm sure as heck not gonna give him the satisfaction though.

As I stay silent, he walks into the next room, a knowing huff leaving his lips.

“Your food’s in the fridge. Try t’ eat it.”

I try to roll my eyes, but the right one’s too sore for any kind of sass. I feel the urge to grab it, dropping my backpack in the process. Really should’ve took the cold pack. It’s aching like a mother…

I wobble over to a chair, putting all my stuff down in front of the arch. Now I’m really regretting being so rough. All through dinner, doing so well holding that pain in, it all just had to explode on me now, didn’t it? Whatever, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m _fine_. I’ve had worse. No big deal. Just buckle down, and-

“Thomas!”

Wuzzat?

I find myself struggling to look up at a fluorescent light, with about five blurry people looming over me. There’s a ringing in my ears, and everything feels like it’s, spinning.

Wasn’t I, in a chair?

“Thomas, we heard a crashing noise. Did you fall?”

Fuzzy faces mush together in this bright haze, but I’d know those sideburns anywhere.

“No.”

“No?” He sounds incredulous.

I don’t respond.

“Dr. Pines, you sure the guy just fell from a tree? Dude looks like he needs to be in the ER.”

No. No! I’m good. I’m great! It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. I turn over on my stomach, and try to get my legs to hold me up.

Have any of you seen the live action Inspector Gadget movie? With Matthew Broderick? Know how there’s that one scene where he struggles to stand up, his butt all in the air, jerking around like an idiot, as he walks around in all fours? Yeah. That’s about how well the me-trying-to-stand-up front is going. Some of the other people in the kitchen try to help me up. No. I can do this. Buzz off.

As I almost find solid footing, my hand goes and slips on a wet spot on the floor, making my face hit the wooden floor with a smack.

Fine. I can look stupid. Sure. That’s okay. Just part of the process. I don't need help.

I inch closer to the den, crawling as if I were in a wartime trench, with the major exception that my butt is still in the air. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.

Do not need any help whatsoev-

“That’s enough.”

I feel two hands slink under my arms, and lift me off the ground. The man behind the mitts hoists me up, just enough so my legs can’t reach the floor. How fiendish.

“Great Uncle Ford, are you sure he’s, human?” A pubescent voice asks from behind me. “I mean, he didn’t even _eat_.”

“Dipper!”

“What?! I'm just saying, it’s suspicious!”

It’s quiet for a little bit, until I hear a sigh.

“Dudes, think we should go upstairs.”

“But-”

“ **Go**.”

With that rather stern word from Mr. Stanley, both the kids and Mr. Mystery pass by me, heading up. The boy looks back, a sharp look in his eye. Still in a bit of a pain-induced stupor, I wave at him as he leaves, a broken smile on my face.

His stare hardens even more as we lock eyes for a moment, then he darts away.

“Stanford, I’m gonna ask you _one_ question-”

“He’s human, I swear on my life he’s human. What the sensors picked up was just some irate telepathic wildlife that had chased him up the tree in the first place. Please.”

The light above buzzes as the pair are silent for much longer than what I think anyone in the room really wanted. Y’know, it’s really starting to hurt, that light. Can't even keep my eyes open because of the stupid thing. Who made it that bright, anyhow? I should kick their butt.

Suddenly, the grip on me tightens.

“Can ya, grab his stuff and, whatever you used on me back in January? I’ll get Soos to warm up some food. After that knuckleheaded display, we might have to force-feed ‘im.”

“Stanley, I promise, you won’t regret this.”

The guy carrying me makes his way to a door without a handle, turning around to open it with his back. I see Dr. Pines as he looks at the both of us, beaming. Behind me, a gruff but hearty laugh erupts.

“Hey, maybe this time, I _actually_ won’t!”

  
\-------

  
“Choo choo! Here comes th’ microwaved leftovers, ya friggin’ idiot!”

Stanley shoves another bite of green beans in my face, and after a bit of fighting with him, he boldly forces open my mouth and spoons it in, and then holds it closed, until I start chewing. He’s been doing this ever since his brother came down to this dark and kinda cold basement with the plate I didn't eat, along with an assortment of strange bottles and vials in a black bag.

This dingy place doesn't even feel that much like a basement. If it weren’t for this cherry red futon, that weird soft glow from the lamp in the corner, and the random throw pillows by my side, I'd’ve said this was some mad scientist’s secret lab. The entrance felt secret enough, at least. A staircase, and an elevator! _Behind_ a vending machine! What kinda place even _is_ this?

I'm currently being held hostage in some gross, musty-smelling sleeping bag, with a big rope tied all around it, in order to keep me still. Stan’s sitting beside me, scooping up another spoon of food as I reluctantly chew up my current portion. This is completely embarrassing. I woulda been fine if the jerk let me slip out without a fuss, but no, he just had to step in and make me stay. Now I'm being subjected to this humiliating bullcrap. He even keeps making train noises, treating me like a stupid kid. Jerkbag even hit me in the shin once to make me open my mouth! Like I wasn't in enough pain that I'm trying to deny! I’m pretty sure this all qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.

“Awww, don't be grumpy, kiddo. Maybe, if you behave good enough, Ol’ Grunkle Stan’ll get Dr. Ford t’ use the not-as-big giant needle.”

Hardee-har-har.

“Stanley, stop antagonizing him.”

Dr. Pines strides up beside him, holding a tray. It’s, hard to see what’s all on it, but I can make out some kitschy little corked bottles, and couple little brown ones that look properly medicinal. He sets it down on the nightstand by me and takes a seat in a swivel chair. I look over at the supplies and…

He, uh, wasn’t kidding about the needle, was he?

Stan sees my reaction and slaps his knee. “Guess you’ll think twice before messin’ with the local fauna, huh kid?”

“Hush, Stanley.”

He huffs, still smirking that sly grin. Stan gets up to set the plate down on a desk, and then places his elbow on his brother’s shoulder, half-laughing. “So, what’ll it be? Are we gonna turn him into a squirrel or somethin’? Maybe that way he won’t get stuck in any trees.”

Dr. Pines shoves him off, and turns to his equipment coldly. A few of the corks pop off, and the needle takes in some of the fluid, his measurements precise each time. Within the syringe, the, whatever it is, starts to turn a vibrant neon orange, which is, as always, the most concerning hue of orange. He gives the needle a little flick.

“I need the boy’s neck exposed and held still.”

Stan cracks his knuckles, glaring me down. Aw geez. I'm, not getting out of this, am I? No, think, Tommy, think. I scooch with my legs, ‘till my back’s at the metal armrest, and by proxy, the wall. My entire body coils up like a spring. I’m only going to get one shot at this.

“Aw, come on, you’re acting like he’s not gonna keep you in a cage feed ya everyday!”

He starts trying to make his way towards me. Just a little bit closer, jerk. My only hope is I still have enough coordination to pull this off…

Woof.

Okay, turns out I don’t.

Before I could even think of reacting, the old man grabs the bag, and my head. He shoves me away from the wall, and has me face down on the futon, neck open to the elements. Was he joking about the squirrel thing? Can Dr. Pines actually do something like that? I mean, it’d probably be better than my current living situation, but being a nutrat was _not_ an ideal in any stretch. With no way to move, and no way to escape, I brace for impact.

_Snk!_

I open my eyes, and look around, as the hand forcing my head down almost felt, limp. There was a needle in someone’s neck alright, but it wasn’t mine. The clear liquid from an entirely separate syringe now coursing through his brother’s blood, Dr. Pines pulls out the shot, and puts a bandage on the hole. I felt the man above me shake, looking at his brother in uncertainty.

“You… you, really… huh.”

His eyes rolling back, Mr. Stan falls on top of me with a loud snore, down for the count. His heavy, droopy body presses me into the cushion even more. I think he’s drooling on the back of my neck a little.

“I asked you twice to stop, you... _Knucklehead_.”

It’s hard to see, but I think the Doc’s trying to lift him off. The weight above me shifts and lightens. I can actually breathe.

“ _Shouldn’t have done that, he’s going to be so upset in the morning…_ ” Dr. Pines mutters under his breath. “ _I_ _know I was the one who asked him for help, but, he didn’t have to be so… Why couldn’t he have just, played nice? For once?_ ”

Doc props the lug up at the end of the couch, putting a pillow between his head and the wall. The old guy looks, strangely comfy. Like he’s slept like that before or, something. Doc then props me up, at the other end, and sits in between the two of us, breathing a little heavily.

Geez, hope I didn’t, take too much outta him....

Still all tied up, I swing my legs a little bit, until a firm hand clutches my shoulder with a fierce and angry strength. A strength I uh, got a taste of back in the woods. There’s a fire in this old man’s eyes, but it’s not the warmth of determination. No, this is a cold flame. This is a look someone gives when they’re about to throw you down a ravine. My hands get clammy as he takes his other hand, and points at me, his arm shaking.

“You thought I hadn’t noticed, didn't you?”

Notice what?

I don’t even have to say anything, he sees the confusion on my face.

“The bags by the front door, you little…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, fingers still digging into my back.

“You were trying to run away, weren’t you?”

A bead of sweat drips down my brow. Crud. He digs his other hand in my free shoulder, dragging me close to his face. He stares at me, cheeks bright red and nostrils flaring, and simply explodes.

“You think it’s funny, summoning unspeakable evils when they were good and dead, then leaving before you have to suffer the consequences?!”

“Th-that wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what? What you _meant_ to do? It doesn’t matter what you _meant_ , boy, because that’s what you _were_ doing, trying to dash off like that! I just sedated my _brother_ , so you had better start explaining what made you think running away like that was okay!”

“No! I, I was-” His fingers cut into me even more, to the point my eyes are a downpour, trying to hold in my screams of pain. I, I didn’t know! I-

“Ahhhh… AHHH! I’M SORRY!”

His grip loosens as more tears stream down my face. Thoughts bubble up. Thoughts of everything. Running away from home, running away from my problems, running away from my relationships and responsibilities, all flashing by in an instant. No, please, no more. I can’t do this anymore!

“I’m sorry! I, I was scared and stupid and I didn’t know it was that bad and, and I’ll try to fix everything! Alone if I have to!”

No more running.

“I, messed up, I messed up bad, and I’ll try and fix it, and, and I won’t even complain about it!”

_No more running._

“Y-you don’t even have to keep me here! I can sleep out in, in the park! I can eat trash! I’ll-!”

_NO MORE RUNNING!_

“I… I...”

“Thomas, look.”

Though the hot tears in my eyes, I see the big needle he made for me, only, it looks, empty?

“T-th…”

He nods.

“So y-you…”

“Got you in the neck while you were crying?” He half-chuckles. “Yes.”

Not knowing what else to do, I collapse into his arms.

  
\-------

  
So, I’m not gonna be a squirrel after all.

Turns out the orange stuff was for my headache, through what I can make out of the medical jargon Dr. Pines keeps spouting off. Yadda yadda reduction of inflammation and swelling yak yak accelerated and augmented neural repair. How does anyone follow this guy? Three four syllable words in the same dang sentence! On the other side of him, his brother gives out a loud snore, still fast asleep. Everything in my body hurts.

So, that demon guy I set free? Not a good dude, if y’know, that’s not been obvious. Turns out he’s been dead a year thanks to Dr. Pines and his brother, so in shaking the statue’s hand, I brought the little jerk back to life, and undid all their hard work. A big tragic bonding moment between two estranged siblings, down the drain. Way to go, Mason.

It’s, kinda weird. Doc, almost sounds more upset I tried to run off, than this big bad bully coming back. Like, I dunno, the way his body completely tensed up, like a clenched fist, and that tearful warble in his voice as he roared at me earlier, seemed so much more intense, hot, and, emotionally involved, than this meek and quiet sadness he’s now wearing. I don’t get it, or him really, but I guess, I don’t have to. There’s, something I gotta get done now. A… a purpose.

“Thomas?”

I nod, staring off into space. Right. I gotta, I said I was gonna fix this on my own. Where do I even start? What kinda demon do you think he was? Something mind based, probably? Would be wise to brush up on my lucid dreaming either way-

A gentle nudge interrupts me.

“I know that look in your eye, boy. Nothing is getting done right now. It’s late, and-”

“-and that guy’s still out there!” I exclaim, to his shock.

I shake my head, and continue my thought. “Besides, I gotta, find a good bench, maybe play guitar from there ‘till I get enough cash for a local motel…”

“What, are you talking about?”

“Y-you’re kicking me out, right? I messed up, so now, you never want to see me again, and shoving me to the curb. Isn’t, that how it, usually goes?”

As I say this, every fleck of color drains away from his face. His eyes become desperately, heavily soulful, and his mouth hangs open slightly, as if unbelieving what he just heard.

It, is how this plays out, right? There’s, a recent event I can’t quite recall, but, I think it’s what happened there, and, a bunch times more that are a lot more clear. Grandma, Curt, Danica, I could go on. I did something wrong and they booted me out. This was all after they’d said they loved me, makes sense for a near stranger to not treat me any less.

Another loud snore fails to break the tension.

“I… No, I don't want to kick you out.”

I cock an eyebrow “But you got all-”

“I got upset, because I thought I was going to have to defeat Bill again, on my _own_.”

So…

Hold on, wait.

“What?! I thought you were shoving the whole thing on _me_! If that’s the case, why can’t you two just, do what you did again?”

“I’m not telling _Stan_ that Bill’s back! Are you crazy?! I almost lost him once to that maniac, I'm not risking him a second time!”

I stare him dead in the eye for a solid five seconds.

“You, _just_ sedated him.”

The old man glances behind himself, as his brother slumbers louder than a jackhammer, then turns back towards me with pursed lips.

“Well, he’s been complaining about not getting enough sleep the last few days anyways, so this was kind of, two birds with one stone?”

I don’t have words. All I can do is squint.

“Besides, that’s not the point here!”

Suddenly, a sharp pain digs into my side with a small snap. Dangit, must be these stupid binds. I grimace as I wiggle around, trying to, at least loosen the knot.

The old man pulls out a knife from his hoodie pocket with a sigh, and grabs a part of the rope tied around me. I stop squirming, and watch his methodical slicing of twine. Back and forth, back and forth, with small rough noises coming from both the Doc and the binds.

Last bit cut, the rest fall off loosely, letting me rip the zipper of the sleeping bag wide open like a butterfly cocoon. At last, sweet freedom! I crack my knuckles, sighing in relief.

Dr. Pines, on the other hand, lifts himself off the couch bed, in order to walk towards a curtained window overhanging the desk, which is, only now striking me as odd.

After peering behind the burlap veil he pulled open with the knife, his eyes find their way back over to his brother, who kicks his leg a little.

“We don't, have the means to do it like we did last time, anyways. Involving Stanley would just cause more problems, and more anxiety.”

I sit on the edge of the seat,  feet finally touching the ground, and nervously rub my hands together.

“So, how am I supposed to do it?”

“Not alone, that’s for sure.”

He stares out the window, his shoulders tense.

“I figure, since you tried to run from something simple as _dinner_ , I don't think I can quite trust you to not run from this big of a responsibility.”

His mouth grows into a big toothy grin, a wild look on his face.

“Nope. You’re stuck here, I’m afraid. With me to keep you in line.”

My eyes almost roll out my head as I throw my neck down. Fine. Alright. That’s fair. So, I'm stuck bunking with his family ‘till this mess gets cleared up? Great.

“So, what, I'm your little prisoner?”

He chuckles. “I was thinking more along the lines of, assistant, my boy."  
  


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